


From Dreams to Deliverance

by elavoria



Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Catharsis, Dreams, F/M, Recovered Memories, Reunions, Smut, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:00:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25027345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elavoria/pseuds/elavoria
Summary: A female Altmer becomes intoxicated by her dreams of Dagoth Ur. When she realizes that she’s the Nerevarine and that she and Voryn had once been close, she journeys to Red Mountain to join him and make her submission.
Relationships: Dagoth Ur/Female Nerevarine
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	From Dreams to Deliverance

The dreams never frightened Niralye. She had seen enough since her arrival in Vvardenfell, especially during her time spent with the Telvanni, that they intrigued her—no matter that they sometimes featured talking corpses or other things that others might find grotesque. Besides, the mysterious golden-masked figure was always there, and she found it impossible to be afraid in his presence. He was... imposing, certainly, but to her he was also enthralling. She loved to see him in her dreams so much that she could conjure up his image in her mind whenever she wished, and how often did she wish...

The mask was the most stunning; its face was finely-structured, commanding but not harsh, and almost unbelievably expressive. The burnished gold seemed to come alive when light played across its features. It had not two eyes, but three, and three spokes at the top formed something of a crown. Rays like those of the sun framed the face, and she knew without knowing how that she was looking upon the face of a god. The rest of his appearance was hardly less striking: ebony-black hair flowed from behind the mask and fell to his waist; his skin was ashen-grey, his chest and arms bare and toned, his fingers and nails unnaturally long and pointed. Apart from the golden jewelry around his neck and wrists, he wore nothing but a long, dark red loincloth, held in place by a belt marked with a peculiar sigil.

*

In time Niralye learned that the mysterious figure was known as Dagoth Ur, the one called Sharmat, the devil. This knowledge made her feel a slight twinge of shame, for she had passed from merely finding him enthralling to finding him alluring, but it was followed by a surge of pride; after all, she told herself, a Telvanni has no use for shame, and an Altmer should always carry herself with pride. She looked forward to the dark of night in hopes that she would dream of him, welcoming both the would-be unsettling dreams—walking with him through fields of the dead, for example—and the more familiar, mundane dreams in which they simply sat and talked over goblets of something that seemed too strong and delicious to be real, red candlelight dancing across the golden gleam of his mask and lending the scene an atmosphere of clandestine intimacy as she became intoxicated from the drink and from his presence... Those were her favorite dreams, and although she enjoyed their conversations immensely, she could never be quite sure what they were about; his voice was deep and musical, but words and sounds seemed to lose their meaning in his presence. It mattered little to her, however; all that mattered was that this strangely beautiful being chose to spend his time in her dreams—for she was sure that these visions were no ordinary flights of fancy.

She added perfume to her nightly ritual so that she might be more pleasing to him, and her body soon learned to associate the dreams, and the sight of him—golden mask, flowing hair, lean and muscular body—with ecstasy and excitement. When the dreams faded to black and she slipped back to reality, she was more often than not burning with unfulfilled desire. Although she wished that he would take her himself, she took pleasure in imagining that it was his long fingers and not her own that tended to her, that it was him stroking her and enjoying the wet arousal that she offered to him, that it was him inside of her bringing her to blissful oblivion...

*

As more time passed, Niralye began to feel that her waking hours were merely a pale imitation of what could be, and that her real life was the one that took place at night in her dreams. She hungered for the dreams—she needed them, she told herself—and whenever they didn’t come, she felt the bitter craving and empty ache of withdrawal. She sometimes had a fleeting worry that perhaps she would lose herself to the dreams—to him—completely, but her immediate response was always, well, wouldn’t it be better to be lost? And besides, she was still managing to complete her duties for the Telvanni and for the Blades, gathering information about the Nerevarine cult and the Sixth House. It almost seemed as if she was collecting the stories of a life she had once lived, for every so often she would have inexplicable flashes of remembrance and understanding, but she was never able to hold on to these for long. It came as no great surprise, therefore, when she was told that she showed signs of being the Nerevarine and ordered to seek out the Ashlander tribe that revered the Nerevarine prophecies, and it came as a bitter blow when she was then told that although she might become the Neverarine, she did not currently pass the test.

Affronted and indignant, she decided that she didn’t need to win the Ashlanders’ approval just for them to tell her something that she already knew. She sought out the loremasters of her House and found one willing to help her locate the cavern about which the wise woman had refused to speak, the Cavern of the Incarnate. “In caverns dark Azura’s eye sees and makes to shine the moon and star.” Could it be that the cavern housed Moon-and-Star itself? It would be a wonderful find, and undeniable proof...

At length they managed to track down an Ashlander riddle, recorded long ago and subsequently forgotten. They weren’t sure what it meant, but she had a contact in Ald’ruhn who might. After an enlightening visit with him, she was soon making a journey back to the Ashlands.

Moon-and-Star was beautiful. Simple, yet elegantly crafted, and it shone brightly—invitingly, she thought—despite the dim light of the cavern as it hovered above the stone palms of Azura’s statue. Nerevar’s ring, and now hers... Niralye stared at it in wonder, then slowly reached out her hand, hesitating for just a moment before taking hold of it. Instantly, she was overcome by a vision, not unlike the one she had attributed to a fever dream while aboard the prison ship. When she blinked awake, she realized that she had sunk to the floor and had closed her hand protectively around the ring, tightly enough to be uncomfortable. She unclenched her fist and looked at it again, shining and delicate. Azura, if it was in fact Azura who had just spoken to her, had called her Nerevar...

She slipped the ring onto her left middle finger and felt a peaceful contentment wash over her. It fit perfectly, as if... Well, she thought with a smile, it _had_ been made for her.

*

Niralye held the scroll with trembling hands. Her mind was racing with thoughts and flashes of long-forgotten memories, and she struggled to break the letter’s seal. Dagoth Gares too had addressed her as Lord Nerevar. It must really be true, then, no matter what the wise woman had said. She wore his ring, and these memories certainly weren’t hers... And Dagoth Ur, Lord Dagoth, the figure that seemed to dwell in her dreams as much as he did in Red Mountain... He wasn’t the enemy, but had been her friend once, and wanted to renew that friendship?

When she finally managed to unroll the parchment, her heart skipped a beat: she had never seen the elegant, spidery script before, yet it was achingly familiar. She read it slowly and found herself rereading parts of it before she reached the end: _“My Lord, Friend, and Companion...”_ _“...No houseman ever served you better, or more faithfully...”_ _“...a bitter betrayal, to be felled by your hand...”_ _“...I would forgive you...”_ _“...set the world aright...”_

Her heart hurt with the knowledge that she had so wounded him, and it shattered when she read the last line: _“Lord Voryn Dagoth, Dagoth Ur”_. Voryn Dagoth. Voryn...

She sank to the ground as tears of shame pricked her eyes. How could she have ever forgotten that name? She breathed it aloud and felt her chest tighten with emotion; it had been too long since his name had graced her lips. In her mind she saw a mer with long black hair and dark red robes, but he wouldn’t turn to face her, and the image faded quickly. She took a deep breath and looked up at Dagoth Gares, who was still standing nearby, watching her.

“I’ll go to him,” she said with quiet intensity. “I need to apologize. And make my submission.”

If an ash ghoul could smile, then that was what Dagoth Gares was doing as he inclined his head respectfully.

“A wise choice, Lord Nerevar. As my Master wills, you shall come to him, in his flesh, and of his flesh,” he said solemnly, and he laid his hands over her and blessed her with corprus.

That night, as if in answer to her unasked questions, the golden-masked figure appeared in her dreams, and she felt a familiar rush of ecstasy as her dream-self looked upon him. He spoke to her in a voice of resounding command that nevertheless rang with joy.

“Lord Nerevar Indoril, Hai Resdaynia!” he said, spreading his arms in greeting as she slowly approached him. “Long forgotten, forged anew! Three belied you, three betrayed you! One you betrayed was three times true!” Entranced and intoxicated by him and his speech, she kept walking towards him, but he was no longer getting any closer. He placed a hand over his heart, and her eyes were drawn to his long fingers and nails. “Lord Voryn Dagoth, Dagoth Ur, steadfast liegeman, faithful friend, bids you come and climb Red Mountain!” At the sound of his name, she felt a rush of something different, something warm and pleasant, and her face flushed as she embraced the feeling. “Beneath Red Mountain, once again, break your bonds, shed cursed skin, and purge the n’wah from Morrowind!”

She was used to being unable to speak in these dreams, so instead of trying to answer him, she tried harder to reach him. She desperately wanted to break the bonds that kept her in the waking world, away from him. She had so many questions, so many things she wanted to say, so many things she wanted to... do. It was now astoundingly clear that her bonds would only be broken when she sought him within Red Mountain, renounced her life as Niralye, and took on the mantle of Nerevar. She would devote all of herself to accomplishing that task when she woke in the morning, but for now, if she could just—

But as soon as she managed to stand before him, he vanished, leaving her alone with the ache of longing in her chest. Finding that she could speak again; she cried out to him to wait for her, but there was no response, and the high of her ecstasy started to fade.

The scene changed, and she found herself instead chasing after a shadowy figure, the same red and black one that had appeared to her in Ilunibi. She knew it was Voryn; it had to be... As she followed him, vague memories played in her mind, scenes of him and herself-as-Nerevar as they talked and laughed over dinner, or clinked their glasses of brandy together, or... Desire flooded through her as she stopped to watch them share a tender moment. Her heart swelled with the knowledge that they had once been so close and hurt with the knowledge that such closeness had long since been lost. As hard as she tried to hold on to the memories, they all slipped away from her, and not once had she been able to make out Voryn’s face...

She blinked awake and stared at the dark ceiling, breathing heavily and filled with a deep longing. At least she knew what had to be done, and the prospect of meeting him at last—or, she supposed, reuniting with him—only strengthened her resolve.

*

Ascending Red Mountain was... unpleasant. Apart from the occasional cliff racer, the denizens who dwelled within the Ghostfence left her alone, but the dust and grit blown about by the constant wind of the blight storm cut like a thousand shards of glass, and the wind itself buffeted her and made progress arduous. The paths were treacherous and difficult to navigate in the low visibility, but Niralye set her jaw and took it all in stride, knowing that it was all a part of her atonement.

When she finally reached the central citadel, she took a moment to rest by the door crank, alternately staring down at the lava and up at the multitude of Dwemer towers. She was experiencing a severe case of déjà vu: she had been here before, once a very long time ago, and yet, as with everything else, she was also seeing it for the first time. She felt an instinctive sense of foreboding that she knew was tied to the past, although her present emotions were not much better. She was excited to be so close to him, yet still apprehensive. It had been so long, and she had done so much harm... Realizing belatedly that the air was calmer here, she tried to shake the dust from herself before turning the door crank and hurrying inside.

The door lock shut behind her with a decisive clang. She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath, then opened them in wonder at the sound of a familiar voice—a voice that spoke not in her head this time, but aloud, alive, and resonating pleasantly off the metal walls.

“Come, Nerevar. I wait for you, where we last met, countless ages ago.”

To her surprise, her feet began moving as if they knew the way, and before long she found herself running through the corridors, hardly noticing where she was going in her haste to join him at last. Eventually she reached a room where the Dwemer ruins gave way to caverns, where a simple wooden door stood in place of a heavy metal one. She stared at it as she caught her breath, her heart now beating with excitement instead: she was close now, she could sense it.

As Niralye stood there, she remembered something that Dagoth Gares had said, something about putting aside her weapons. She couldn’t divest herself of magicka, but she could lay down her glass dagger, and remove her glass pauldrons, cuirass, greaves, and boots... When she was finished, she was standing barefoot, clad only in a deep purple knee-length skirt and an elbow-length shirt of the same color. Moon-and-Star sparkled on her finger, and she gave it a last look before pushing the door open.

She found herself flanked by torches in a cavernous tunnel that opened to a larger chamber in the distance. Violet coprinus and luminous russula mushrooms grew along the tunnel, illuminating it with gentle blue light that contrasted with the red light emanating from the chamber ahead. She began to tremble with anticipation as she walked.

“Voryn!” she called, moving forward increasingly quickly. “Voryn, I’m here now. Please forgive me, Voryn.”

Niralye looked wildly around when she reached the chamber, and when her eyes fell upon him, she slowed to a stop. He was standing upon a black dais with his back to her, examining a many-candled altar; the only sound in the heavy silence between them was the soft crackling of fire in the braziers that lined the cavern. After what seemed like ages, he slowly and deliberately turned to face her. Firelight danced across the gold of his mask; her mouth fell open and her breathing slowed as she drank in the sight of him. He was taller than she had expected, and far more majestic in person than she could have imagined—his long, black hair was lustrous, his muscles rippled sinuously as he moved, his mask seemed alive, and his bearing was perfectly regal. They regarded each other for a time, then he stepped off the dais and graciously stretched out his arms in greeting.

“Welcome, Moon-and-Star, to this place where destiny is made,” he said, his voice low and musical.

Niralye could only breathe, “Voryn,” before falling to her knees and prostrating herself at his feet.

“Look at me,” he commanded softly. She hesitantly straightened herself and raised her eyes to meet his—or rather, to meet the dark eyes of his mask. “Nerevar,” he said gently, and she could have sworn that she heard a flicker of pain in his voice. “Is it really you?”

“Yes,” she answered, equally softly. “It’s me. I’ve come back. For you...”

Voryn said nothing, but he raised a hand as if he were about to cradle her head, and her eyes widened slightly. With a deft motion, he removed the pins that held her bun in place, and a cascade of white-blonde hair fell down her back.

“Your hair is the same color as his,” he said quietly, slowly running his long fingers through it. When he was finished, he placed his index finger under her chin; she drew in her breath and closed her eyes, weakened, as his pointed nail lightly pressed against her neck. He tilted her face upward, and her eyes fluttered open again. “And your skin. Your golden eyes...” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was even quieter, as if he were speaking to himself. “Different features, and a different body, of course.”

“Voryn,” she said softly. “You’ve seen me now. May I see you?” He lowered himself to her level and knelt on one knee; she reached out a hand and hesitantly trailed her fingertips along the golden metal of his mask. Tears of longing and sorrow welled in her eyes, and she whispered, “I... I don’t remember.”

He took her hand from his mask and held it in both of his, and her heart beat noticeably at the touch.

“Not yet,” he said, though his gentle tone held a promise. “You must make your submission first.”

“I’ll do anything,” she said, placing her other hand on top of his.

Niralye’s ring sparkled with the movement, drawing Voryn’s gaze; he ran his thumb over it before raising her hand to his mask for a better look.

“Moon-and-Star,” he remarked. “I hardly expected to see it again.” He fell quiet for a time, then said, “Enough of my reminiscing. I am sure you are eager to begin. I would ask if you are ready, however...”

His voice trailed, and he laughed a low, soft laugh as he stood gracefully. He offered her a hand to help her up, then led her to a Dwemer door lock that she had hardly noticed before. With a wave of his hand, it opened for them, and they passed into the largest cavern that she had ever seen. When she realized that what she saw before her was a giant construct in the likeness of a Dwemer, and further realized that they were truly inside Red Mountain, she gasped and came to a halt.

“I will explain everything in time,” he said smoothly.

Voryn gently steered Niralye to the right, where a humble wooden door was set into the stone wall of the cavern. He pushed it open, ushered her inside, and closed it behind them. With another wave of his hand, the black candles on the wall shelves that lined the room flickered alight and bathed the room with a warm glow. Unlike the rest of the cavern system, this room was carved from the stone of the mountain. It was comfortably sized, and the numerous Sixth House tapestries that hung from the walls almost made her forget that she was inside a mountain at all. The bed was in the Dwemer style, a simple metal construction large enough to accommodate him; it was the first she had seen that was actually functional, and it was adorned with blankets made from the now-familiar dark red fabric. The only other furnishings were a small table and chair in a corner, a nightstand by the bed, and a chest of drawers. There was an ash statue on the nightstand, and... something else, something golden that glittered in the candlelight.

She let go of Voryn’s hand and walked forward, entranced. When she was close enough to see what it was, her heart was moved.

“My necklace,” she breathed as she picked it up. “I... forgot about this.” Turning back to him, she said in an awed voice, “You’ve kept it all this time.”

“I have,” he said, and his mask seemed to smile as he moved to join her. “I see there is much I will have to help you remember.”

Niralye smiled at him, then looked back at the pendant resting in her palm. It was engraved with a moon and star, her particular symbol, and one that she had come to love. Voryn took it in his hands, and she inhaled softly at the brief contact. Without speaking, he slipped the chain over her head, then gently brushed her cheek.

“It suits you,” he said, “and it is the only thing you need to be wearing right now.”

She smiled again, playfully this time. It was time, at last. With trembling hands, she removed her shirt, skirt, and smallclothes. Once nude, she prostrated herself before him again, as it seemed the only appropriate course of action. This time a dark red rug protected her knees from the rough stone, for which she was silently thankful. After a few moments, she heard the soft thud of fabric hitting the floor. Very slowly, she raised her head and looked up, and her eyes widened as the deep hunger he inspired in her awoke once more.

Niralye rose to her knees and took his shaft in her hands, feeling the fire of arousal burn through her as she caressed him. She reverently kissed up his length and down again before slipping her mouth around him and sucking with a quiet need as her tongue explored his contours. Voryn cradled her head and twined his fingers into her hair—she shivered as his nails brushed the back of her neck—then slowly pressed her closer against him. She surrendered control of herself as she felt him slide deeper and deeper down her throat. He gently eased her head forward and backward, and she closed her eyes, pleased by the thought of the pleasure she was giving him. She could feel him throbbing, but instead of finishing, he extracted himself and bade her to stand, then scooped her into his arms and held her for a moment before setting her down on the side of bed.

After producing a strip of fabric, he placed a hand on her chest and pushed ever so gently; understanding that he wanted her to lie down, she lowered herself onto the bed. He ran his hands along her arms as he moved them to rest over her head, then tied her wrists together. He trailed his fingers back down her arms, over the swell of her breasts, and down her stomach. A moan escaped her lips as he teased her before spreading and lifting her legs so that they rested against his chest. The vulnerability that came from being so completely at his mercy made her tremble with anticipation. She had been waiting for this for what felt like ages—what had been ages, she realized; she was wet with desire, and her eyes begged him to take her.

He gently eased himself inside of her, and ecstasy flooded through her as she felt him slide in deep, and deeper still. His thrusts took her higher and ever higher, and as she rose to those heights, she felt the weight of her guilt and shame slip away, until she was soaring freely, lost to the thermals of pleasure until she succumbed to their shared release, unspeakably sweet and cathartic. Breathing heavily to catch her breath, she smiled up at the golden mask.

“Your submission is complete,” Voryn said, his tone one of satisfaction. He carefully lowered Niralye’s legs and unbound her hands, then effortlessly moved her further onto the bed so that she could rest more comfortably, though as he didn’t join her, she propped herself up on her elbows to look at him. “And now,” he continued, “I did promise...”

Slowly, and perhaps, she thought, self-consciously, he raised a hand to his mask, hesitating for a moment before removing it. She couldn’t help but gasp: he was beautiful to her, in a strange but not unexpected way. She felt the warmth of fond remembrance as she gazed upon his features, angular and stern, but not unkind; and now, as he waited for her response, shadowed by a slightly apprehensive expression. A third red eye that she had never seen stared down at her from his forehead, but if he was worried about what she would think about this addition, that fear was unfounded: he was perfect, and although she didn’t have the words to tell him this, she needed to try.

“Voryn,” she whispered, sitting up. “Voryn, I...”

Voryn smiled softly at the desperate devotion in Niralye’s eyes, which only deepened her desire to show him her love. He set the mask down on the table and joined her on the bed, where her hands quickly found his face. She caressed him eagerly, and before long they were wrapped in each other’s arms and kissing fervently, as if trying to make up for lost time. He felt so... _good_ , tasted so good, and tears ran down her cheeks as their tongues explored each other’s mouths. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling, exactly; there was relief, and fulfillment, of course... but also a number of other strong emotions she couldn’t quite identify. It didn’t matter, though. All that mattered was that she was finally in Voryn’s embrace, where she was meant to be.

When at long length they broke apart, Niralye realized how exhausted she was and lay back on the bed with her eyes closed. Voryn gazed at her for a moment, then silently got up and procured a towel and wash basin. She opened her eyes when she felt the refreshing cloth against her, then stood to make it easier for him. He washed her slowly and sensually, letting his pointed nails trail along her skin as he went. When he finished with her, he washed himself, then returned the basin to the table and replaced his loincloth. She watched curiously from the bed as he rummaged through one of the drawers, and her eyes widened slightly when he took out a dark red robe. As he helped her into it, she quietly marveled at how wonderfully soft the fabric was. Once she was dressed, they held each other’s gaze for a time.

“My color looks good on you,” he remarked. She smiled tiredly, and he added, “You should rest now. You came a long way to get here... A very long way.”

Niralye stared at him for a moment before nodding in acquiescence. Voryn helped her under the blankets and tucked her in comfortably before sitting on the side of the bed and gently caressing her face. Struck by a sudden need, she sat up slightly, took his hand in both of hers, and kissed it reverently.

“I’ll never betray you again,” she said with a quiet intensity. “Never.”

Voryn simply smiled, then with a wave of his other hand, extinguished all the candles but one.

“Sleep well, sweet Nerevar,” he said, his voice low and soft.

Niralye’s heart swelled with love and pride to be so addressed, and after a last shared look, Voryn stood, replaced his mask, and left her alone to dream the dreams of remembrance that he sent.

**Author's Note:**

> I make TES art! Find me on [dA](https://www.deviantart.com/elavoria/gallery/73370158/elder-scrolls) and on [tumblr](https://elavoria.tumblr.com/)~


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